


On Slick's Taste in Cars

by Path



Series: Midnight City Stories [3]
Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-14
Updated: 2011-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Path/pseuds/Path
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spades Slick has so many cars, you find it hard to believe.</p><p>= = =</p><p>Midnight City Stories</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Slick's Taste in Cars

Spades Slick has so many cars, you find it kind of hard to believe.

This one is black (they're all black) with a little spade hood ornament (most of them have that too), and these amazing leather seats, it's just the best car ever. You'd love a car like this, though you'd like it to be white and with a little flag on the front and maybe custom plates with your phone number (HOT STUD) on them. Yeah. Hopefully everybody would be able to figure out it's a 1-800 number.

Of course it's probably bought with the labour of starving children and suffering dames, so you are never going to get a car like this (not that you could ever make enough money anyhow), let alone six or ten or however many cars he's got with shiny black paint and silver spades on the hood.

All the same, if you have to be locked up somewhere with the most dangerous criminal since Mobster Kingpin, you might as well choose a swanky automobile like this one. For all he's a dirty rotten crook, Slick's got good taste.

It extends to everything. His casinos are all done up in brass and red velvet. His apartments (all of them- oh god so many, all across town in various penthouse suites) are all huge, with black and white tiles or plush carpets and dark walls. Looking down on the city from one is a contrast as sharp as one of Slick's many (many) knives. Each one's twice the size of your place and your office combined, and somehow entirely empty by comparison (whoever does Slick's laundry knows what they're doing). You're sure you haven't tracked all his places down just yet, but you will.

His suits are pretty much the best of everything too, silk shirts and ties and black rabbitskin hats. He complains viciously at you for what you wear whenever you talk over dinner or meet up in public (not so rare, given how little you trust each other). You'll never tell him you show up in your best; guy's got too big of an ego as is. Plus you really don't need him ragging on you any more than he already does.

It was supposed to be a stakeout, the two of you on the rare occasions your interests overlap, keeping an eye out on a mutual enemy. The Felt's getting worse all the time; none of Slick's eye for the public, just rampant destruction. For all Slick's a gangster, he's a Kingpin gangster who stands to lose if the city does. The Felt... they're a different story altogether.

Maybe you let your guard down, or maybe you were just focused on the wrong enemy, because you really didn't expect to end up back here pushed into leather seats with Slick in his silk suit up on your lap like some dame. No, that's not right- Slick's nothing like that and feels nothing like it. No soft curves or soft laugh, Slick's all sharp edges and teeth and elbows, cool and knowing and as smug a bastard as ever.

He's skinny, though. Somehow it's still a surprise. You know he'll make use of the card up his sleeve if you ever mention how _little_ he seems though. He's all the more dangerous for it. There was a misstep once in the early days with him, and you've never seen somebody move quicker, this black-lightning-leap across the room for the card in his vest, left carelessly tossed on the floor like you leave all your laundry. He's got somebody to pick it up though, you guess, which is really the difference.

So you've got both hands around him, he's savaging your neck (God, man, the teeth) and stripping your tie off (complaining in your ear the whole time about what a terrible tie it is). Of course that's when you catch a glimpse of one of the targets, peering in the front and just looking more confused than malicious really. You go for your keys but Slick reacts just so goddamn fast, a card out his sleeve and (no lie) straight out the windshield into the green guy's head, dead between the eyes. Just dead, really.

His windshield has a hole in it the size of your fist, and you can see a second Felt goon coming out to investigate. Time to be moving on, you agree, and without another thought Slick leaps over into his seat and slams into reverse. He speeds up quickly and runs the car straight into the dead Felt (Trace, maybe? There's too many of these guys to keep track), nearly slams you through the windshield too, before you're gone and rocketing down streets and leaving a cloud of black smoke coming out the hood in the glow of the streetlights.

He parks it in front of the casino and just throws the keys over his shoulder; you really doubt he'll even get the thing fixed, just have it towed away and trashed. It's still better than any car you'll ever own (not that you even own a car, or will anytime soon), but for Slick, it's already done its job, and he'll never use it again.

He'll just get a new one anyhow.

"Godfuckingdammit," he says, stalking into the casino like a panther with a grudge. "I was starting to like that car."

"It was a good car," you offer. "But there's probably a better car out there."

Slick looks back over his shoulder, gives you that appraising look, same one he'll give his new car. "...s'long as the back's big," he mutters, and disappears into the casino.


End file.
